White Rose
by LoveLessEnd
Summary: What happened during the two years gap between Gundam Seed and Seed Destiny? Continuance to the one-shot by Crystal heart of ruby love. Contains mentions of suicide, coarse language,etc.
1. White Rose & Snow

White.

He had always liked that color. Someone had once told him that white represented purity and innocence, something mystical, something special... like the snowflakes that fell from the midnight sky.

He agreed to that. There was something unique about that color, so beautiful in an unexplainable way. And everything that surrounded him was white. The tiles of the ceiling, the cemented floor, the soft wall cushioning, the steel bed frame, the sheets... even his clothes. Everything white, everything untainted. He liked it that way; it was perfect.

The ceiling was laid with a regular tessellation of large polystyrene tiles. Pure white, unstained. He would spend long hours, lying on his cold bed, staring up at the white ceiling. Not that there was anything else to do: counting the ceiling tiles seemed rather interesting. In actual fact, he had counted them so many times that the number was memorized somewhere in his head, but he always pushed it aside.

He was quite good at that. Whenever he found something he didn't really like - or when some faint memory he couldn't decipher arose - he simply pushed it away. He wouldn't let anything hurt his pristine world.

Well, there was no use counting something when you already knew the answer, right? So he would forget that number every time he looked at the white ceiling.

Occasionally, he would switch to counting the floor tiles. But he didn't like that, because he had to crawl under the bed frame to count the tiles underneath it. Once, he tried with the large slabs of padding on the walls too, but he had to keep backing away from the wall and crane his neck so that he could count the cushions closest to the ceiling. He didn't like it. He preferred lying on his bed, where he had full view of the ceiling.

He raised his hand slowly, pointed at the first square tile at the farthest corner of the room and began.

1, 2, 3... 9. His voice sounded oddly loud in the otherwise silent white room. There were nine tiles along the length of the ceiling and twelve on the breadth. Automatically, his mind did a mental calculation - there were a hundred and eight tiles on the ceiling. Each tile was probably... twenty inches by twenty inches, he mused to himself. And that would make the length of the room a hundred and eight inches and the breadth two hundred and forty inches. That would make the ceiling one thousand and ninety-seven point two eight centimeters square.

Interesting...

He returned his attention to the first tile again and began counting once more.

* * *

White.

He had always liked that color. Someone had once told him that white represented purity and innocence, something mystical, something special... like the soft cottony clouds of an azure blue sky.

The people he saw were always in white. They always came and went from his rooms in groups or pairs, like silent ghosts that drifted in and out. Whenever he grew immensely tired of staring at his tiles, he would stand by the steel door with its soft padding and peer out of the peephole in the door.

The white clothed people were always murmuring among themselves, but he had once heard one of them comment that he was a smart kid with brilliant intellectual abilities. They said that all the information had come in with his report when he had first stepped into that white room.

_"Such a pity... " they all signed._

He didn't understand. It wasn't a pity. Why, he was enjoying himself, counting his tiles and living his own world... He loved every minute of it.

They didn't understand him. And it really seemed as if they didn't at all.

At first, he had tried talking to them. There was so much to tell these people: his name, what he liked to do, something about his blonde sister, his best friends... They always listened to him patiently as he chattered on and on. But he knew they weren't really interested in his nonsensical babbling because they never replied him, nor told him anything about themselves. They wouldn't entertain him, so he had to find his own amusement elsewhere.

_"Hello! What's your name?"_

A small, sympathetic shake of the head.

_"You don't have one? Well then, do you want to know mine?"_

A half-hearted shrug.

_"I have a sister. She's blonde, just like you."_

A quiet sigh.

_"I have a green bird. His name is Torii. But I think I lost him somewhere."_

No reaction.

_"I'm sure he's safe. But can you find him for me?"_

The steel door of his room clanged shut.

* * *

Snow.

Isn't it pure? Isn't it innocent? Isn't it beautiful?

After another excruciating day at the Plant's Council, she stumbled face-down onto her bed. It was_ ridiculous_. How could they continue to argue over meaningless things when so many people were agonizing? How could they threaten each other, even if it's only with words, of restarting the war? Did they have no sense of shame? The countless people who sacrificed themselves for a truce between Naturals and Coordinators, the unimaginable large amount of civilians who suffered because of war, the heart-breaking tears of the children…Have they thought of them?

But she did recognise the fact that she herself wouldn't be able to do any good in this case. She _couldn't_. To be fully admitted into the PLANT's council, you had to be at least old enough to drink...

When her father still held the position of chairman, she didn't have to do anything apart from concerts and charity duties, even though he still taught her diplomatic etiquettes and the basics of running the Clyne faction. She was the link between the Council and the people. She held enough political influence to be considered as more than a simple civilian; yet she wasn't officially one of the members during PLANT Assemblies. If the government was red and the citizens white, then she was the pink area (pun intended).

Whatever stability Zaft had during that time had gone through the window after Patrick Zala became the chairman.

His methods were ruthless, cruel, and deadly. It was as if the war was the only preoccupation in his mind. Though, thinking back now, maybe it really was the case. She had tried to convince her father that appointing Zala was perhaps not the best idea. Was it his attachment as best friend to him that clouded his judgement? Or was it pity, induced after the Bloody Valentine tragedy? Nevertheless, she didn't resent him. She was capable of understanding grief.

So when she felt her sympathy transform into hatred, she didn't know what to do. She couldn't comprehend the fact that her father died because of his former best friend. He had sent hundreds of his own people out to die and yet he still had the nerve to declare that it was for the good of all Coordinators. Her mother's words resonated again and again in her head, helping her to keep a calm exterior despite all the boiling emotions inside.

It was the very first time hatred filled her to the breaking point.

She had done everything she could in the shadows. Conducting the spying network, keeping tabs on the Clyne faction's progress on weapons, arranging diplomatic meetings with political influences in the world... Anything to forget that painful night when her father had been pronounced traitor, pursued criminal, and then executed. By the hands of the very people he had been trying to protect. Coodinators.

_"The world is cruel, Lacus, but it's also very sad."_

The moonlight dimly shone through her bedroom curtains. It was night, but she couldn't sleep. Again. Twisting and wiggling on her bed, she knew she wasn't going to get any shut-eye soon. Desperation gripped her as she tossed her blanket away and went to her desk. Crawling underneath the wooden board, her fingers brushed a silver-rimmed black coffer. Then, slowly, carefully, she brought it with her to a rocking chair, hugging it with the poor excuse of arms she had.

A bittersweet smile formed on her lips as she unlocked it. Her trembling hand almost dropped the key chained to her neck before she finally succeeded.

Dust flew everywhere and blinded her for a moment. Tears filled her eyes, but not just because of the particles: her treasured possessions were exposed after being hidden for such a long time. Choking the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her, she stared at the opened chest.

Between the mass amounts of small trinkets her deceased parents gave her, one stood out like ink on paper. The silver ring she both loved and hated at the same time.

* * *

White.

He had always liked that color. Someone had once told him that white represented purity and innocence, something mystical, something special... like the feathers on the wings of a descending angel.

He never remembered stepping out of that white, white place, never remembered seeing anything outside those white, white walls. So, he didn't know how he always knew it was time to sleep.

Perhaps, it was when the lights in his room suddenly went out, plunging him in total darkness save for the small slit of light that spilled through the door's peephole. The time when cold fear clasped at his thrumming heart...

Because that was when the nightmares came.

They always came with the dark, which was why he hated the dark so much. Because with darkness, came the horror and fear that grasped him in their merciless jaws, threatening to snap him in half.

Nightmares filled with the blinding rays of nuclear explosions. A flower made from yellow paper. A beautiful crimson-haired girl engulfed in burning flames. The ice-cold eyes and laughter of a maniac, his face half-covered with a silver mask. An old photograph of a brunette cradling two babies. Streaks of red on his bare hands, blood that he couldn't clean off. He would rub his hands frantically, desperately, until he had rubbed his skin raw and his own blood mingled with that on his hands, burning him like the flames of hell.

He would jerk awake, screaming in his cold hard bed, his hands clutching his skull, his fingers digging into his scalp. The tears slipped down his cheeks from his large, wild eyes, leaving behind blazing trails on his cheeks; his body drenched in cold sweat. He wrapped his arms around his body protectively and just screamed, his curled body rocking to and fro. Until he flung himself from his bed and threw himself against the padded white walls repeatedly. Once, twice, thrice...

It was always then that the people in white would burst through the steel door and swarm into his white room. Someone grasped his right wrist in a vice-like grip while another caught his left arm. He kicked out viciously, spitting venom, lashing out at anyone with his teeth and nails. It was all too white for him; he wanted to stain it all with red, with blood.

_Blood. Red. Scarlet blood._

Someone heaved him onto the white floor and crushed him against it, pulling his arm back with a painful twist. He could feel the icy coldness against his cheek, but it wasn't as cold as his heart when he felt the white sleeve of his right arm rolled up. He froze almost instantly, ice surging through his stomach. "No... Please..." he whimpered, tears of genuine fear coursing down his cheeks, "Please... Don't..." he attempted to struggle, but the weight on top of him was too much for him to overturn.

There was a hand under his head, mindfully cradling it against the hard floor and a voice was whispering softly in his ear, murmuring endearments. He didn't hear any of it, neither did he notice the hands soothing him, but he did feel the prick of the needle and the pain of it entering his flesh. Within half a minute, his flailing had ceased as the drugs flowed through his blood, draining him of his energy.

He barely felt the weight lift from his back or the gentle arms that picked him up. The white of the walls, the ceilings and the uniform of the people surrounding him had all blended into one. A snowy white blanket of cotton... He was replaced on the bed, and straps were threaded through the bed rungs and over his limp body, binding him to the steel, unforgiving metal frame.

_Why..._ It was all he said. A single, weak murmur that rang out like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room. No one replied him; no one gave him an answer. It was just like always, like every single question he had ever asked them. No one ever responded. They would simply walk away, leaving him bound to the bed, his lips parting and closing repeatedly, his amethyst eyes clouded and glazed over.

_Why... Why... Why..._

_Why are you doing this to me?_

All that white was blinding... overwhelming... He realized that he didn't really like that color so much. Someone had once told him that white represented purity and innocence, something mystical, something special... But he didn't deserve all this white, did he? It didn't suit him at all, because, after all, his hands were stained with red...

* * *

Snow.

Isn't it pure? Isn't it innocent? Isn't it beautiful?

Birds chirped outside, bouncing on the old withering branches of the ancient tree in front of her window. It was winter outside. The chilling wind woke her up rather roughly. She showered and dressed, half asleep, dragging herself here and there still in the land of dreams.

An unusual thing for a _morning_ person _normally_.

Though now, she could hardly be considered as such. After all, an insomniac who depends on pills to rest doesn't fit into the confines of society in general. Even less with coodinators and their manipulated genes and all.

She shuddered as she stared blankly at her reflection on the mirror standing at the corner. The striking differences between her present self and the pop princess before the Bloody Valentine War seemed to bulge out even more every passing day. Denial wouldn't do anyone good. She was weary of her own lies now. It pained her when people tried to act normal around her, but failing as she noticed the nervous atmosphere, the hesitant ways her friends acknowledged her, the carefully concealed pitying tone which, mangled with fake cheerfulness, disgusted her.

She was once considered a beauty. The pride and joy of Plants and Coordinators. Signature pink hair flowing gently to her knees, slender figure with soft curves, and the most stunning sapphire eyes in the world.

However, the pale girl smiling meekly at her reflection was nowhere near that person. She had drastically changed during the few months that followed the Battle of Yakin Due. Her skin was sickly pale now, all hints of her once rosy cheeks gone. Results of her weight loss were considerably visible from her weak, bone-thin form. The glow of her long, wavy pink hair was gone, replaced by a dull strait ponytail hanging from a black ribbon.

_He_ was the main reason behind that transformation. It was pure torture just thinking about _him._ _He_ had been the one who held her, consoled her, and supported her through all the heartbreaking pain they had experienced…

_He_ was also the one who left her in his madness.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she reached up and grabbed the bottle of medicine from the top shelf. Entering the kitchen while pondering dark thoughts, she filled up a glass of orange juice, and swallowed one. Not because she was sick. It was a well-known fact that Coordinators just _can't_ get sick. The pills were for energy purposes. You can't expect anyone to work without food nor drink for days straight. Which was why she consumed them on a regular basis, maintaining her brain even if her body couldn't keep up anymore.

She glanced at the clock. It was only 5:30am while the meeting was for 9. Enough time to get out for some fresh air. Jumping to her feet, she quickly wrote down a note for Murrue-san and tossed it at the counter. She snatched a black coat carelessly from the closet, picked up the keys, and strode off. Locking up the door, she glimpsed at the red glow of dawn, instantly regretting it. So many things had changed between the last time she had seen that unique crimson red and now…

* * *

White.

He had always liked that color. Someone had once told him that white represented purity and innocence, something mystical, something special... like the snowdrops that bloomed in early spring.

He liked the white that surrounded him. It was so beautiful. No one could ever hurt him in this paradise, in this heaven. Yet, sometimes... sometimes, it could be so lonely...

At times, he would wake up to find himself in that straitjacket for days, until they deemed it fit to let him go. No one ever told him the reason and he never understood why, but he guessed it must have been because he had been 'bad'. He didn't like it, since it itched against his skin and was always unrelenting. It made his arms ache and without the use of his fingers, he had to keep his eyes trained on the ceiling to count those white tiles.

Still, it didn't matter much to him. He could always lie on the white bed and stare at the white ceiling, counting the large white tiles until he could no longer distinguish between one tile and the next. And he realized that squirming helped to ease the ache a little.

But, he knew everyone would stop coming into his room. The people in white would no longer come see him as often as they did. Occasionally, they would send him dinner, bathe him but they were even more silent than they used to be.

And he knew they would stop them from visiting him. He didn't want that. He liked the nice people who came to see him every now and then. They were his only connection to what lay behind those white, white walls, the only bright colors he ever saw within those white, white rooms.

The instant the guard opened the door, he would prance into the room joyfully, flashing them one of his innocent, sweet smiles and plopping down into one of the white chairs across from them.

They would always smile in response. And he would look deep into their eyes with his excited amethyst ones. There was something special and unique about those eyes - they were whirlpools of complex emotions that he could never understand but he always found what he was looking for. There was always recognition in all three pairs of eyes that watched him steadily. That was enough for him...

Every meeting, every conversation would begin with the familiar cold voice of the guard asking: "Would you like us to keep watch?" To which the man with midnight-blue hair would always reply to the negative. "Alright. You know how to contact us if anything happens, Mr. Zala." The person in white would nod. And to him, he would add, "Behave yourself, Kira."

He would flick an anxious but reassuring smile at the person in white leaving the room. Then he would turn back to his visitors and launch into one of his exciting tales, rambling on in a monologue. They acknowledged him, unlike the people in white. Well, at least the young man with emerald eyes replied him. The two women he always came with would merely sit there, watching him, not saying anything.

"Yesterday," He beamed excitedly at them, "I counted the white tiles on my ceiling! Guess how big my ceiling is?"

A slightly amused smile on the man's lips, but a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders.

"Come on, Athrun! You're no fun!" He would pout, frowning, "Make a guess, please?"

"50?"

"Nope! It's 1097.28 centimeters square! Isn't it fascinating?"

"Sure..."

He sat upright in his chair, smiling giddily at them. He always felt as if there was so much he wanted to say, yet, there was nothing much that he could say. There were always awkward silences whenever they visited him. He didn't understand why. His three visitors usually remained silent, merely watching him until he prompted them to say something, or until one of them felt the need to break the odd silence.

"So, Kira... How're you here?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I like it here. Don't you think it's so perfectly white?"

The girl with bright amber eyes would always look at him sadly. Those gold orbs would run over his features repeatedly, as though looking for something, but he never could understand what.

"Do you have friends here, Kira?"

"Well, I guess I do. But those people in white never talk to me. And some of the other people in here do nothing but scream or grin at me. But I think it's okay. I like it here. And you'll always come to see me, won't you?"

The girl with the beautiful pink hair always had that sad, sad smile on her face. He didn't understand why; he had always told her he was happy. She needn't be sad for him. But she would shake her head and glance at the cold white floors, her pink locks covering her face.

"Are you crying?" He would ask her, a tinge of fear in his voice, "Don't cry, I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?" Once again, she would shake her head, but she wouldn't look at him. He would wring his fingers in his lap, chewing on his lip nervously.

Had he done something bad again?

He didn't want to hurt anyone, especially not these nice people, these friends of his, the only people who really talked to him, who really looked at him with recognition...

He had always wanted to hug them when they stood up to leave. But it was against the rules. He wasn't supposed to touch them. The first time he tried, he had gotten pinned down to the floor and drugs injected into his system. The second time, the woman with pink hair had asked to touch him. But the people in white had said it wasn't "advisable" and they didn't want to "trigger off a reaction". He couldn't understand a word they were saying and he didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to touch them.

But it was enough just seeing them come. It was enough for him.

* * *

Snow.

Isn't it pure? Isn't it innocent? Isn't it beautiful?

Snow fell from the heavens above. Soft patches of white sprinkled all over her body. It overwhelmed everything. The blinding color of nothingness invaded her vision. It was cold. The water soaked through her coat and reached her skin. It stung, as if a thousand microscopic needles pierced her every pore. Even so, the feeling of numbness was blissful...

"Lacus!"

_What was that? How... Kira? I thought…  
_  
"Are you alright?"

_Oh, Kira, how I've missed you…  
_  
"Lacus? Geez, what were you thinking, coming out here in the middle of a storm?"

_I wanted to see you. The one smiling with beautiful amethyst eyes...  
_  
"It's okay, Lacus. Athrun is coming with his car right now. You'll be fine…"

_What are you saying? Of course I'm fine. Athrun is here? I'm so glad. You are going to see him after such a long time.  
_  
"Ssh… Just rest for now, Lacus. We're going home."

_Home?  
_  
Startled, the pink-haired girl opened her eyes. She was draped over someone's back as the person carried her to a red car ahead of them.

_Kira?  
_  
But as blond locks drifted rebelliously out of the hood beside her, she knew it wasn't him. Though ironically, in her half unconscious state, she was able to mess up the twins, something no one was able to do before, given their enormous differences.

Lifting her head, she stared up at the white clouds covering the azure sky. The wind blew aggressively everywhere. She hadn't realized it was storming until now. Since when did she became such an airhead? It was ironic...

Their wish had been granted. The war was over. Both sides retreated their armies and politicians around the world were signing peace treaties as they speak. Although very slowly with stubborn ambassadors... But she wasn't happy. His friends weren't satisfied either. The wounds, the scars and the pain were never going to fade from their memory.

Besides, even now, he was still fighting.

_Pain was the atonement for sinners. But what of the sin itself?_

* * *

White.

He had always liked that color. Someone had once told him that white represented purity and innocence, something mystical, something special... like the soft petals of a beautiful, white rose.

Once, when a person in white was bringing his food to him, he had caught a glimpse of a bouquet of white roses she had left sitting outside his door. It mesmerized him and he was drawn to it, his amethyst eyes couldn't leave them.

When she placed the tray by his side and ruffled his hair before turning to leave, he caught her hand in one of his own thin ones.

"Can I have one of those, please?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed. The other person in white who was guarding his door turned to look at him with bewildered eyes as well. He waited patiently and hopefully as they exchanged a glance, as though assessing if they would put harm or danger in anyone's way.

"Well, s-sure..."

That day, he didn't count the tiles of his ceiling, nor his floor. He spent his time, staring at the white rose he held in his hand, his food left untouched.

The pureness of the white in each petal was exquisite. And as he ran a tender finger over each delicate petal, he felt the silky velvet beneath his fingertip. Such a beautiful rose...

A thorn on the emerald stalk pricked his finger. He didn't feel pain. Instead, he watched, captivated, as a dot of red blossomed on his finger. It slipped down the side of his wounded finger and fell onto the petals of the rose he had left in his lap, staining it red.

He liked the color white. He always had.

But that day, he realized, that no matter how white the rose petals were, they could never remain so. Because it took just a single, tiny drop of blood, to stain a white rose red...

* * *

**Haro... so this is my first post. The credit for the white rose part of this prologue goes to Crystal heart of ruby love, the queen of angst.(I swear, her stories are AWESOME) ^^ I 'm simply going to continue this with a story plot. I don't own this chapter and the characters (Gundam Seed in general...). **

**I'm so sorry if the style doesn't match with the prologue. I tried to make my point clear, but I don't think it stood out much. The idea was that peace came with a price. Lacus wanted a peaceful world in the beginning, but after Kira's confinement, she began to doubt everything. Just as the snow, pure, innocent and beautiful, it can also be painful. Snow comes as water in a frozen form. And it doesn't last. I wanted to post this like a part prologue since the format resembles the prologue, but oh well...**

**Ja ne.**

**Edit: 12/02/2011 Just to prevent people from thinking that it's the same thing as what the original author wrote, I've combined the two prologues together. Next chapter is slowly building up, but I'm having problems getting back on the GS wagon... Plus the fact that I've lost my original plot line and couldn't find it anywhere.**


	2. Crash

**White Rose**

_Inspired by the one-shot of the same name by CristalHeartofRubyLove (sorry, I'm still alive .)_

Anime: Gundam Seed/Destiny

Rating: T (may vary for violence)

Disclaimer: I don't own GS, GSD nor any of the characters u_u

* * *

**Chapter one – Crash**

_Copernicus, three months after the battle of Yakin Due, September 12th_

Clack, clack, clack.

Cagalli paced back and forth relentlessly while muttering unintelligible curses beneath her breath. Patience wasn't one of her virtues. No, definitely not. Despite her status as a princess, the young blonde was a walking catastrophe for etiquette. She was one of those tomboy girls whose pigheadedness would break even the most determined suitors down. To pieces.

Speaking of suitors, it was a wonder how Athrun survived until now. The blue-haired Coordinator was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and patiently waiting for his more or less girlfriend to cool down. Neither of the two would ever admit that publicly of course; it was a delicate matter adding itself to the situation on hand.

They were currently residing at the ORB Embassy of Copernicus City, having sent almost all of ORB's citizens to PLANTs. Arrangements were done during the so-called negotiations. As expected, the Coordinators had been quick to seal the deal with Lord Uzumi, the nation's recently deceased leader, on the condition that one of the few remaining path to space, ORB's Kaguya Mass Driver, was to be destroyed, thus cutting the Earth Force's path to space. So while the war refugees were evacuated by shuttle to the space colonies, the Three Ships Alliance landed on the moon for both political and practical reasons.

Established long ago as no-man's land, the Moon was sort of a neutral ground for political negotiations, even if some terrorists still assaulted its cities. There were unavoidable casualties during war; nobody can hope for a perfect oasis. Copernicus City was also holding civilians instead of soldier regiments.

During the months that passed after the Battle of Yakin Due, the crew of all three ships were still on alert. There was much to do: diplomatic matters with the PLANTs Council and ZAFT for Lacus, repairs for the equipment, ORB's territory organization to work on, the Clyne faction's system to review, papers to sign, events to testify, contracts, assignments, schedules…

One wouldn't believe the quantity of paperwork that signified, which was the primary reason why Athrun had been looking for the representative in the first place. Kisaka had stumbled upon an interesting stack of documents in the archives that could prove very helpful during the meeting with the AF while he was sorting through hard data at the storage room. Searching for the young girl in the maze of the embassy building, He had found the blonde trying to set a Guinness Record of hole-drilling with shoe heels.

"I can't believe it! It's been months!" Cagalli fumed, heels digging into the floor with every stump.

Months of what? Of political threats directed towards ORB's legal rights as a nation? Of scandals revealed by the media on Blue Cosmos' human research laboratories? Athrun wasn't sure. It could have been any goddamn excuse both sides were sprouting to get public opinion to favour them.

He _was_ sure, though, that that the ground was going have dents if Cagalli didn't stop stomping like it had done something awful to her ancestry.

Athrun sighed. It seemed that he was the only sacrifice available this time; there aren't any other punching bags in view. He didn't like facing the fiery blonde's wrath; he never did. They always seemed to end up on each other's throat holding a fully charged gun ready. The blue haired Coordinator was generally calm and composed, but exposed to Cagalli AKA his girlfriend – no, he's _not_ whipped - meant caution out the window.

A cough snapped him back to reality.

"I'd like to keep my floor intact please, your highness." A sulky voice spoke up, with a distinct accent meant to seem gentlemanly.

'_Please tell me it's not _him_…'_ Athrun internally begged.

Unfortunately, his plea wasn't answered, as a lanky purple haired man walked swiftly into view. His small, dark eyes squirmed into a line, a wry smile curved his lips. He was dressed in the regular dark purple suit of ORB politicians, having been born from one of the noble families of the country. Body inclined into a curt bow, he winked at the young girl standing before him, purposefully ignoring the bodyguard's presence.

"To what do I own the pleasure of your presence, princess?"

Yuna Roma Seiran. The bane of Athrun's existence.

"Yuna." Cagalli returned the greeting, eyebrows still knitted. She was in no mood for light chit chat. "Have anything arrived from Earth yet?"

"No, I don't think so," the young man replied offhandedly. "But don't waste your time worrying over them, you look too pale to be working now. Let's go take some fresh air at-"

"Cagalli is needed at the main office to inspect the documents Kisaka found in the storage room," Athrun interrupted hurriedly, trying to sound as if he had just entered the room.

"Athrun!"

"Please excuse us, Yuna-san," the Coordinator swiftly pulled Cagalli by the arm and retreated away, leaving a frustrated ambassador behind.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cagalli asked, annoyed by his unusual pushy behaviour.

He looked at the girl, pondering - why oh why - did he _have_ to fall for her. She wasn't beautiful; a pretty, but ordinary teenager with scattered short blond hair all over the head, sun kissed tan skin covering a slightly round face and a pair of burning amber eyes…

Yes, it must be the eyes. Those fierce orbs were his source of strength. He was like the boy in that ancient Greek legend, the one mesmerized by the sun and forgot his own life.

Athrun can only hope that he wouldn't end up as a second Icarus.

"Hello? Moon to Athrun?"

"Oh! Sorry, spaced out for a second."

"So… What's up with Kisaka?"

"He recovered information on some kind of agreement between ORB and the PLANTS at the beginning of space colonization. I didn't get the full details, but it seems that we will be able to get them to listen if we pulled this card," the blue haired boy added then oh-so-carefully:

"But you just disappeared from your office and we couldn't find you anywhere. Besides, what were you doing at the Memorial Gallery anyway?"

Cagalli sighed and relaxed her shoulders, tension slipping away from her as she slipped in a light stroll to the Main Office.

"I… I needed some time alone. It's been months since we've last seen Kira and the others; we've received no word from them for weeks."

When the repairs were done, Kira had decided to accompany the Eternal for extra safety. Lacus was, after all, one of the most influential people in the world and the meetings conducted directly within the lion's lair on Earth (_Blue Cosmos, you are a source of pain_) were anything but casual. They were intense, and sometimes critical situations with terrorists could cause extended periods of communication blockades.

"The Eurasian Federation doesn't really care that much if you are a Natural or not. From what Kira had told me about his stay on Artemis, Eurasian officers offered him protection from Coordinators if he unlocked the Strike and joined their ranks."

He paused, scratching his chin in deep thought.

"Well, you can still get one of Lacus' Haros to contact Pink-chan. There was a communicator fixed inside its head before, but I'm not sure if it will work; it's been a while since I last fixed those. And we don't know if they have a barrier shutting external communication links off. Berlin wasn't on ZAFT's curriculum of to-know cities since it's mainly a civilian trade metropolis. There's still a downside though, if Lacus moved outside of Berlin, we probably wouldn't be able to detect Pink-chan anyway."

Slowly digesting what Athrun said, Cagalli nodded.

"Fine, we'll get to it first thing tomorrow morning. Let's focus on what Kisaka has dug up now."

Speeding up, she smirked: "And since when have you started to call that haro _Pink-chan_?"

* * *

_"Waltfield-san, thank you for waiting for me."_

_ The pink haired singer smiled as she walked down the stairs to the Parliament of Germany. Her dutiful bodyguard close behind her._

_ "How was it?" the scarred man asked by way of greeting after he signaled to the driver to get the car ready. _

_ "It's going well." _

_The careful wording of a response meant to close the subject for now. He could push for answers later. From the looks of things, it would take more than just armed intervention to settle the long-lasting grudge between Naturals and Coordinators. Waltfield led his charges to the black limousine waiting on the roadside. It was ironic how adults cannot understand what teenagers, kids, understood and fought for. _

_He chuckled bitterly. The lesson was learned. __It was up to the two behind him now._

_ "Kira, are you feeling all right?"_

_ No response. The ex-commander of ZAFT thought the kid was just day dreaming again._

_ "Kira? Kira? What are you-"_

_ The frantic edge in his employer's voice made him tense and turn back to see what was wrong. And when he did, his eyes went wide._

* * *

It was the last thing Cagalli expected to hear.

Her gentle, caring brother had tried to strangle Lacus Clyne in broad daylight.

**AN: Sorry for the cliffy u_u**


End file.
